


A Retreat from Modern Movement

by AlleycatAngst



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Bad therapist, Constrained to Canon, Depression, Episode: s03e07 Studies In Modern Movement, Gen, Jeff needs a day at the mall, No beta: we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-23 00:33:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23602870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleycatAngst/pseuds/AlleycatAngst
Summary: While the group helps Annie move, Jeff struggles with the fact that he's not okay.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 110





	A Retreat from Modern Movement

**Author's Note:**

> I need controlled angst to escape this oppressive pandemic, but I also can’t imbibe any media besides Community and Starkid for my own mental health. So the result is… this.

He killed Pierce’s father and nothing changed. No one brought it up and he pretended that was normal because he wanted it to be normal, and what Jeff Winger decided was normal _was_ normal for Greendale. It was practically a superpower.

_Rain check on my appointment? I want to be alone this weekend._

He hovered over the send button, wondering what exactly it would accomplish. He didn’t want any questions to be asked. He just didn’t want to go to therapy this weekend. Sometimes it was that simple. But taking on a reason seemed important too—a justification much neater than _I want to drink and spend money and pretend not to be a failure long enough for someone to have sex with me._

The study room was one of the few places left where he could actually face responsibilities like reading and answering emails. It was easier when his ears were filled with the group’s chatter. It was like an anesthetic, the rhythm of their voices. The play between Annie’s excited chatter and Troy and Abed’s positive feedback loop of increasingly insane rules for their apartment.

“The kitchen is designated the “ _safe zone”_ ,” Abed said firmly, his eyes widening to dramatize the _seriousness_ of his words, his voice lowering to a hush of veneration and mystery.

It worked on Annie, who looked around at the rest of the group uncertainly before asking: “What’s the… safe zone?”

“It’s shenanigan-free territory. No science, No costumes,” Troy said, raising a hand and ticking his fingers up. “No capes, no science, no hide-and-seek, no knives, no cooking, and no science.”

Annie blinked, taken aback. “You don’t… cook in your kitchen?”

Troy laughed, grinning at her naivety. “No, no Annie… you can call it _our_ kitchen now.”

“It’s part of our lease agreement,” Abed informed the table. “The Landlord added it in a month after we moved in. Jeff negotiated it for us, so we wouldn’t get kicked out.”

Britta turned sharply on Jeff, a triumphant expression on her face, like she’d won an argument or caught him in a lie. He stared back at her blankly, his finger hovering over the send button for his stilted, weird little email.

Her smile faltered, her eyebrows creased, and Jeff tipped his head, mimicking her frown. Did he have something on his face?

Before either of them could speak, Peirce seized on the silence to break in with: “You know this is exactly like a joke I know about a Jew, a Muslim, and a black man who walk into a bar—”

Everyone at once focused on the old man with a chorus of _“No!”_ and _“Pierce!”_

The old man’s attempt to inject himself into the conversation had failed as instantly and miserably as always, but the Pierce grinned ear to ear. He’d succeeded in being heard and seen.

Jeff wondered suddenly if Pierce even had such a joke or if he’d known the setup was enough to get him some attention.

There was an awkward pause in the aftermath and Bitta turned on him again. Straight around. Like she _knew_ he was struggling with something.

He didn’t know why, but it’s that moment that pushed his thumb down on send, on the two sentences that knot his stomach, that make him feel small and pathetic and vulnerable.

_Rain check on my appointment? I want to be alone this weekend._

Sending. Sending. Sending.

Greendale’s email service is _really_ bad.

“So does anyone want to help me move this weekend?” Annie asked shyly, turning the full weight of her Disney eyes around the table. “It won’t take long. There’s been a lot of robberies in my building this month so there’s not much to pack...”

One by one they fell. First Pierce, then Shirley, the boys are a given, then Britta next with a profoundly stock statement about sisterhood and empowerment. And Jeff was a Good Guy, so he smiled and said, “Of course.” As the _Sent_ icon flicks onto his phone screen.

But he knew he wouldn’t go. He’d come up with an excuse later, when it’d seem less like an excuse.

He just wants to be alone this weekend. He just needs some time to convince himself that everything ws going to be okay. The group does a great job of deflating his ego, keeping him humble, but he’d never felt _this_ low. _This_ type of worthless.

And it was starting to scare him.

#

He checked his email constantly, wondering if he should send a follow up explanation. A ‘ _sorry that sounds weird, I didn’t mean it to sound weird. I’m fine’_ type of thing.

He didn’t though. He figured that would make everything sound way more suspicious, and there’s _nothing_ for his shrink to get suspicious about.

His therapist didn’t reply anyway. That’s what he deserved, he supposed, for hiring a therapist recommended on Greendale’s bulletin boards.

He even checked his spam, which is why he saw the sale from Physique25 in the first place. He was almost numb to targeted ads these days, but the picture of the dark blazer in the email gives him pause. That would look amazing on him.

Yeah. Shopping. That’d always helped. A long mirror, a small room, and a constant stream of compliments from the salespeople—it’s as close to a Jeff Winger heaven as is probably possible for him.

He just needs one day, just _one_ , to take care of himself instead of a bunch of mal-adjusted children.

Let them wear themselves out carrying boxes. He’d text them early to say he was sick, and that should be enough. Troy and Abed would keep them entertained and the combination of Shirley and Britta will kill just enough fun to keep them all on track.

His therapist got back to him two days after that first email, on Friday, with a message to match his.

_Call the office to reschedule. Have a great weekend._

He stared at it and wondered what the hell he was feeling. A plummeting sensation in his stomach, a swoop like he was on a roller coaster and he wasn’t quite sure what direction he’s going. Down or up.

And now he felt balanced precariously on the edge of a yawning precipice.

Where had that come from? How the hell had he ended up _there?_

He tried not to think about it. He just needed a day. One day.

He felt like he was back in high school, watching the clock tick down to the weekend.

The study group finally met up and suddenly the banter was too inane. He couldn’t listen to it at all, but he heard the tones are hard to block out.

Shirley’s voice wavered between cute and dangerous. Annie’s excitement started to mirror Troy and Abed’s as she put blinders on to the beginning of a disastrous new living situation. Pierce interjects to prove he’d listened to at least one word in twenty, and Britta holds onto the reigns of the conversation like she knew where it was going as she _desperately_ tried to figure out where that was.

Jeff played on his phone, nodding occasionally, until he couldn’t _stand_ it anymore. He didn’t belong here. He never did. The fact that they weren’t talking about Pierce’s dad was _weird_. He was a monster for not confronting it. He’s a monster for making them sit here and pretend it’s normal that he _killed_ a guy last week.

“I’m going to head out early,” he said finally, dropping his chair back onto the floor and shoving it back to stand. “I gotta be well rested for all that heavy lifting I’m going to do tomorrow.”

“Typical,” Britta announced, leaning back and crossing her arms as she considered him. “You’re just going to—”

It was as much of her speech as he listened to, but he waited until she’s finished dissecting his character before he agrees with her. He _knows_ that pisses her off.

And then he _ghosts_.

He was going to have a great weekend. He was going to take care of himself for once. He was going to be selfish just this one last time and then come Monday he’d get housewarming gifts for Annie, Troy, and Abed that would make up for all the thoughtlessness he was about to commit for the sake of his own mental health.

#

Annie sent him the address of her apartment that night. It was a text message, but it read like a pamphlet. _Dress comfortably, make sure to clean out your car to carry as much as possible. I’ll be providing orange slices and room-temperature water—_

He read it while he drank. Alone. In his apartment. He’d stripped down to his boxers and socks, and had every intention of watching TV until the moment that he’d sat down and realized there was nothing he wanted to watch.

He still felt the precipice beneath him. It was yawning wider and wider. But instead of teetering, just sat there, considering it. Revisiting all the shitty things he’d done in the name of being a _hero_.

That ridiculous solid-ivory toupee sat on the bookshelf in the living room. He should destroy it, but that felt as cowardly as hiding it in his closet. So now he was a man who owned an ivory toupee like it was a game-hunting trophy. Was this who he was? Really? Was this _better_ than scumbag lawyer Jeff Winger?

Maybe he shouldn’t be alone.

He drank that thought away as quickly as possible.

He was just not used to the silence. The prospect of freedom. He’d shackled his identity to the group for too long and he just… he was detoxing now.

He went to bed early and told himself it was because he had to be up early tomorrow if he’s going to be taking full advantage of that sale.

He’ll feel better tomorrow once he’s phoned in a sick day to the group and tried on a couple of boot cuts.

#

He dreamt about a memorial service. He sat in the back of the cafeteria in Greendale, listening to everyone forgive him for all the things he failed to do. It’s terrible, but the _relief_ in his dreams was hard to argue with. It was solid and unwavering. It felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest. He could _breathe_ because no one wanted him to do anything, to be anyone. Jeff Winger no longer existed, and he was free.

When he woke up, he was troubled by that. He was too scared to examine it, so he didn’t.

He texted Annie first:

_Really not feeling well, Annie. I don’t think I’m going to make it today._ _☹_

The echo of excitement trilled up his spine. It reminded him too much of his dream, so he smothered it with shame and fear, and avoided looking in the mirror before he left.

_Oh no, Jeff! I hope you feel better! Text me if you need anything!_

He was reminded suddenly, viscerally of the get-well cards he kept under his mattress. Of the ‘surgery’ scar on his stomach Sometimes they could comfort him. They reminded him of how good a liar he was and how much people _could_ care, if he wanted them to. If he pushed the right buttons.

The worst was over The lie had begun. He was going to _fix_ himself today, and he’d make it up to everyone later. He really would. He _really_ would.

No matter how emphatic he was, the promises didn’t feel genuine in his own head.

Mall. Jeans. Shirts. Maybe a blazer. Hell, whatever it took to feel… different.

#

Jesus Christ. It actually worked.

By the time Britta called to yell at him for skipping out on moving day, he was flying high. Ensconced in a tiny room with a lock, it was socially acceptable to recognize how good he looked in just about everything.

He _reveled_ , and everything else dropped away. He didn’t feel like a bad person when he lied to Britta about being in the hospital. _She_ was a bad person for calling him out on it. So what if he’s lying? He can lie. It’s his life and he’d spent enough of it on those nerds anyway.

He felt _great_. He was unattached to anything, alone and floating free because no one knew where he was or what he was doing and there _were_ no fires to put out when he wasn’t with the group. Something about them being together _warped_ reality. They were unhealthy for him. Unhealthy for each other.

After he’d spent long enough in front of the mirror, taking tiny bottled waters and compliments from the sales clerk, he stopped thinking about them all together. He felt better than he had in weeks, maybe months. The void yawned beneath him, but he danced above it on a tightrope.

He wasn’t going to _fall_. He liked the drop there. It was a reminder of how _good_ he was in the face of chaos and uncertainty. He could handle it. He could handle anything, and even if he couldn’t, well that’s still a choice. And when he looked this damn good in a suit, what did it matter if he--

“Well hey there stranger!”

Jeff turned back to the changing rooms and tried not to think anything, to feel _anything_ as the Dean strode towards him his hands held out like this was _normal_. Like the Dean would _ever_ shop at this place.

It felt like it’d only been _seconds_ since he’d managed to forget this man existed. That the school-shaped purgatory he attended was in fact a _real_ place.

“Dean Pelton,” he said. Because. What else was he going to say?

“Jeff,” the Dean said. “It’s Saturday. Call me Craig. Off campus, I’m just a Craigular Joe. Ooh, what did you get?”

And Jeff didn’t move. By now he _should_ have established some boundaries with this man. And the Dean _would_ respect them, he wasn’t a bad guy. But when Craig reached out with yet another thinly veiled excuse to touch him, he let it happen.

He’s flattered. That’s the problem. Sometimes that’s enough to get him soaring again. Everyone should find him attractive. That meant the world was still working in his favor. The world _takes care_ of attractive people. He’s not broken because there’s still a possibility that someone can love him.

But also… he’d just spent over an hour making himself look good for himself. And now he was wondering what his stomach had felt like. What he looked like, whether the Dean’s sudden grimace was a reflection of something wrong with what he’d touched.

He blinked back into the conversation. He could handle this. He just had to leave. It was that simple, and he was _good_ at leaving. It’s in his DNA.

“Dean—uh, Craig, it’s nice to see you, but I actually have to run,” he said, turning, starting to walk away, but the Dean’s voice followed him anyway.

“Oh yeah… You’re probably heading to help Annie move?”

He stopped.

“Right?” the Dean said innocently. He didn’t move, and Jeff wass _forced_ to come back.

Jeff turned to look back at the Dean, who waved his phone up to catch his attention. “Oh, I follow Troy and Abed on Twitter. Looks like Annie’s moving and you’re… Sick at the hospital?”

He quirked an entirely too expressive eyebrow, a triumphant smile playing around his lips.

#

Lunch with the Dean was as awkward as it had first sounded. The man was _pathological_ and the anxiety was back. It was worse than before, if that was possible. He was angry now. The Dean was _making_ him take care of him. Pretending that Jeff cared when _really_ , he doesn’t want to today.

“We’re eating lunch, and then I’m leaving,” he said. Because he had to keep calm. He had to be numb right now or he was going to explode.

“Okay,” the Dean said. “I just hope that I don’t bump into your study group on Monday.”

He took a sip of his Margarita. “And I pray they don’t ask me who I saw at the mall on Saturday. Because, unlike a certain someone, I just don’t think I could lie to those _sweet_ people.”

Deep breath. Let it out. Why the hell did he have to up the ante with Britta? She’d suspected he’d lied. She’d _expected_ it, and he’d had to go make her feel guilty, just to punish her for thinking the worst of thim? Fr thinking the _truth_ of him? Karma. This was Karma.

“Dean. This is blackmail.”

“Ah!” the Dean said waving a finger. “Call me Craig. And call blackmail: ‘A day at the mall with Craig!’ Because that’s all I require, Jeffrey. You and I are going to have some fun, and create a few memories, and I suggest you get into it. Because that counts.”

A mariachi band had appeared next to their table as a bowl of nachos was set down in the center of the table. Jeff sat there and he let it happen. Because even if it was happening, he didn’t have to actually _experience_ it.

“A song for the senor, senor?” the closest musician asked.

Jeff looked down at the table. “Adios amores,” he said dully.

“Oh, what a surprise!” Dean Pelton exclaimed, reaching for the tortilla chips as the band struck up.

#

And then, because anyone can get used to anything. He actually. Kind of… started to enjoy himself. Standing next to the Dean and singing a love ballad isn’t exactly where he thought his day was heading, but there was something so _strange_ about it, he’s not sure if he’s really even… there.

He can force himself to think that this is for him. That this is something he’d be doing for himself, even if it _should_ have been in the privacy of his home.

He let go. And he sung _Kiss From a Rose_ , because he _likes_ the song and it felt good to admit that. It’s normal, right? Just that… small piece of himself is true, if only for now in a cheap photobooth, with the least shy man he’s ever met.

He’s… smiling when the music ends. Really, actually… smiling. Not just relaxed, but maybe even a little happy for the first time in as long as he can remember. Years maybe.

The Dean ends the song laughing and wiping away a tear. “Ah! That was great!”

And begrudgingly, still feeling goofy and strange, Jeff agreed. “Yeah… that might have been a little fun.”

“Huh, see? And you emailed your therapist that you wanted to be alone this weekend.”

Jeff chuckled.

For a second.

And then stopped as everything turned to stone. His stomach plummeted and his skin prickled. “What?”

The Dean looked up, the microphone still in his hand, ready to queue up the next song. “Hmm? What do you want to do next? I paid for a full hour, so—”

“I emailed my therapist from my Greendale account,” Jeff said.

And the smile faded from the Dean’s face. But Jeff’s head is suddenly punding. He can’t… believe this. He can’t— But of course—

“The same account where I received an email from physique25 telling me about today’s sale. Is that why you’re at the mall? You read _student emails?”_

The Dean backed away, but couldn’t go far. The booth wasn’t built for the kind of distance the Dean should be fighting for right now. “Oh, oh now. The patriot act says I can do it Jeffrey…”

One glance at Jeff’s face had the Dean paling significantly. “Need I remind you the nation is at war—”

Jeff reached for his throat.

#

Mall security escorted them outside and left them at the edge of the parking lot, staying just long enough to make sure that Jeff wasn’t going to kill the smaller man where they might be found liable for it.

“Jeffrey,” The Dean said softly, still keeping his distance gesticulating wildly in the space between them as if that was what was calming him down. “Now I know this seems like a betrayal, but I take the bond between a Greendale student and his Dean very seriously.”

Jeff stared at him. He could get away with murder. He was sure of it. Actually, technically, he’d already done it. Last _week_.

Oblivious of the danger, the Dean kept talking. “I would _never_ abuse the power of my office unless I had _reason_ to suspect that a student was in very real danger.”

“Danger?” Jeff hissed. “I was in _danger_ of having a nice day! I was in _danger_ of forgetting about you and them and all of this _crap!_ ”

“Now Jeffrey,” the Dean said raising his hands defensively. “I have been a Greendale Dean long enough to know the warning signs—”

“Warning signs? Of what? What are you _talking_ about?”

Taking this to mean that Jeffrey _could_ be reasoned with, The Dean drew himself up, his eyes focused, as always, on Jeff’s chest. “Withdrawing from friends, sending cryptic notes to the authorities—”

“Cryptic notes? I literally said: ‘I want to be alone this weekend, can we reschedule’, how is that _cryptic?”_

The Dean nodded sympathetically. “Professor Duncan agreed it was a cry for help. And I heard you Loud and Clear.”

“Dunc—“ he’s livid. He can’t even finish the syllable.

Jeff steamrolls right over the ‘cry for help’ because he can’t think of a way to fight it. That’s too close, too raw. But he catches on“You thought you would help me by _blackmailing_ me? You want to know why I didn’t want to help Annie move? Because it would just be another lie, just another way for me to lie to them. To make them think I’m _not_ a horrible person because that’s the only way I can live with myself now, by pretending, all the time, that I’m okay. That all of _this_ ,” he gestured violently to the empty parking lot. “ _Is okay_. Because if it’s not, and if I’m not, then what am I doing here? I don’t _belong_ here!”

“Jeffrey—”

“No! No! Listen to me! I only do good things because it means that people will like me, but deep down I am a _bad_ person, and they’re better off without me!”

It echoes.

It rings through the sound of people driving and shopping and living all around them. And Jeff felt like he couldn’t breathe. It’s there. A living, breathing thing in the air now. It’s outside of him and out of his control.

The Dean stopped as well. Froze really. They stared at each other for a moment while Jeff’s thoughts stutter around trying to find another way out of this. “I mean—”

But there’s just static. Where has his power gone now? Why was he saying this to the _Dean_ of all people? Not that he would… ever… say it to anyone else.

“I think,” the Dean said, nervously adjusting his glasses in the awkward, lingering silence. “You know what you need to do now.”

And Jeff does. He shuts his mouth for a moment and considers the man in front of him. “Drink?” he offered half-heartedly.

It’s a testament to just how badly Jeff has screwed this up that the Dean doesn’t immediately cling to the idea of going to a bar with him. Instead he held up his phone instead. “Hashtag Anniesmoved. I think you should go see how it turned out.”

“Yeah.”

His heart had stopped hammering, and now all he felt was tired. Bone deep, inescapable exhaustion. “Sorry, Craig. I’ll… see you Monday.”

The Dean nodded emphatically. “Yeah. And Jeffrey, I really think you should think about getting a new therapist. I don’t think yours is… really listening.”

It’s the briefest, most real conversation he’s ever had with the Dean. Jeff nodded. “I’ll think about it,” he said.

#

He comes back. And he’s surprised for a whole ten seconds at how instantly the forgive him for lying. But as Britta launches into Kiss From a Rose and he realizes that the Dean has tweeted their music video to the wide world… he feels alright.

Because when he’s done being mortified, he joins in.

They all know the words and they all sing them at full volume, trying to outdo each other. He’s not sure what that means, why this feels so natural, but it… does.

#

Shirley left early to be with her family. And Pierce followed soon after because somehow he’d got it into his head that leaving fashionably early is a thing. Obviously he was just tired and was hoping it would catch on.

With him gone, and all threat of terrible heckling removed, Annie, Abed, and Troy started their shadow play for him and Britta. It’s comfortable and warm. Jeff is _surrounded_ by blankets and sitting on a bunkbed made for preteens, watching grown adults play with puppets, mashing up characters from Inspector Spacetime with unicorns and people they all know from Greendale.

It’s a story made just for them. Just for him. And he’s not been invited here because they _need_ him. He’s been welcomed into this blanket fort because they _want_ him.

He doesn’t reciprocate, does he? He’s out of practice with wanting people around. He’d stopped that early on, when it was clear his dad wasn’t coming back. He’s… not good at this stuff.

It is clear that Annie belongs here. He sees that now. She’s still just a kid, and that neighborhood she’d been living in was _dangerous_. She could have gotten hurt. Troy and Abed _were_ her heroes in this story, and for good reason.

He fought back the tears for as long as humanly possible, knowing he should leave, but unable to do so. And when horsebot 3000 dies to save Space Princess Annie and Troyborg from the Blorgons, it fucking wrecked him. They know how to be the heroes. They _know_ how to mean something to someone.

And of course Britta picks _that_ moment to speak, her voice uncertain because he knows she’s just as enthralled as he is: “Alright, five more minutes and we should probably put a stop to this, right?”

He can’t answer. He can’t look at her.

And now she’s actually distracted from the happy ending right in front of them. “Jeff, are you—"

He chokes out an explanation that halfway makes sense. “I liked horsebot 3000.”

She doesn’t know what to do, and he can’t tell her even if he was able to speak. At least she doesn’t laugh at him. Of all of them, Britta understands when he needs his pride. She’s better than him, at admitting that other people are right.

He knows he needs help. But that’s the problem. None of them can help him, and he’s deeply sure that none of them will want to.

But it’s alright. He’s… he’s going to figure it out. He can do that, and he can do it alone. As long as he can come here sometimes, and just step back from the precipice. Just once in a while. That’s probably all the support he’ll ever take from them.

When Britta left, Annie, Troy, and Abed made up a bed for him on the floor— _Wow, they have a lot of blankets and pillows_ —he accepted that too. He didn’t want to go home, and they didn’t ask about it. Somehow, organically, he just stayed the night.

He didn’t dream at all.

#

Annie woke him up at 9am, a completely unreasonable hour for a Sunday. “Do you think you could come with me to ask the landlord to change the lease so I can use the stovetop? I… I want to make the boys pancakes for breakfast.”

Jeff passed a hand over his eyes, rubbing the deep sleep out of his head. “They’ll love that,” he rasped. “Yeah. Just… get started. I’ll go down and talk to him.”

She didn’t argue with this plan of action. She smiled, her child-like smile irrepressible despite how clearly she wanted this to be a grown up moment. “Thanks Jeff.”

He waved her thanks away, rocking onto his feet and to the door. The landlord is on the floor below, and Jeff’s dealt with him before. A simple man without much imagination or spine.

At the time he’d made the deal for Troy and Abed, he’d been glad that there was something stopping to two of them from getting near the oven. It was a _miracle_ that they hadn’t already burned the place down.

#

Well, Rick was just as creepy as he remembered. Jeff knocked for five minutes and the guy still wasn’t wearing pants when he opened the door—just a wifebeater and a rumpled silk night robe splattered with food stains.

He hoped they were food stains. But with this guy, who could really know?

“Hey Rick,” Jeff said as the landlord glared at him through the sliver of the door. “Remember me?”

“The lawyer,” Rick said.

Jeff blinked.

And then very firmly said: “Yes.”

“I told you, they’re not getting the security deposit back.”

“Oh, I know. But look, the new tenant is actually pretty responsible. I think we can ease up on the lease agreement, right? Let them actually use the kitchen they’re paying for?”

Rick’s eyes narrowed. “They got a new roommate? That’s not in the agreement.”

Jeff closed his eyes and prayed for another shred of patience. Of course Troy and Abed hadn’t run Annie’s move-in past their landlord. Of _course._

“Look, between you and me, that whole apartment, this whole _building_ is much safer with her staying with the two of them.”

He leaned back, a new, speculative light coming over his features. “It’s a lady?” he asked.

 _Lady?_ What a creepy word coming from Rick’s mouth, but Jeff pushed past it.

“Yes.”

“What’s her shoe size?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Eight.”

Rick nodded slowly; his eyes narrowed on Jeff’s face as if they were supposed to be communicating something through telepathy. Jeff waited out the odd moment and was rewarded when finally the other man jerked his head down. “Fine,” he said.

And closed the door before Jeff could finish an equally short and surly “Thank you.”

Jeff stared at the door for a second, then shook his head slightly. Whatever transaction he’d just made was probably left unquestioned and forgotten as quickly as possible.

Greendale was a crazy place, full of crazy people.

#

Upstairs he can already smell the butter and batter. He lets himself back in and comes face to face with an anxious Annie. “What did he say?”

“He said it’s fine,” Jeff informed her, grimacing and leaning back out of her space. “tell me that earned me some pancakes.”

She grinned. “Jeff X-winger to the rescue,” she said with a dainty, off-balance salute. “That Blorgon didn’t stand a chance.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I think you’re adapting a little _too_ well to this apartment.”

She leaves him in the entrance, humming a little as she returns to making pancakes. It’s Abed who emerges first from the blanket fort. “Hey Jeff,” he said.

“Morning Abed. How’d you sleep?”

Abed tipped his head to the side and considered the question for a long moment. Really _considered_ it. Half exasperated and half actually curious, Jeff watched him until the kid gave a quick nod. “IMDB would give it six out of ten, popular with general audiences, but critically panned.”

Jeff blinked. “Your… dream?”

He nodded.

“Sounds… fun?”

Abed nodded. “You want to stick around today?” he asked. “We were going to marathon ‘misfit roommates’ TV shows while we make a roommate agreement, so we can avoid the most common pitfalls of the genre. We’re starting with the 1970s TV show ‘The Odd Couple’ starring Tony Randall and Jack Klugman.”

“That sounds great, Abed,” Jeff said. “But I gotta get back to my own apartment. I’ll stay for pancakes, but then I’m heading home.”

Abed met his eyes. It always felt… weird when that happened, like the other man was looking right through him. Like he could see something Jeffrey wasn’t ready to show yet. “Okay,” he said. “But Jeff?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for giving us a limelight episode. Yesterday was about Annie and Troy and me figuring some stuff out for ourselves. Like roommates are supposed to. You showed up exactly on time. The leading man always does.”

“That’s right,” Jeff smiled. “I did it for you, Abed.”

“Who wants pancakes?” Annie called from the kitchen.

“ _Pancakes?”_ A muffled scream broke through the blanket-curtains that separated the living room just as a thump shook the apartment, reverberating under Jeff’s feet.

A pause.

“How did you fall off the _bottom_ bunk?” Jeff called, refusing to look towards the noise.

“I’m fine!” Troy shouted back.

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually an insanely hard fic to write in terms of canon-mimicry. I know I made it a lot darker and disjointed, and emotion-centric, but the characters voices were actually way harder to find than in my usual fandoms. Comedy is really not anywhere near my wheelhouse.  
> Damn, I miss this show.  
> I have some ideas for more fics, mostly Abed or Jeff-centric XD Mostly angsty fluff, all friendship and gen, but probably with more plot than this? So if that interests you, maybe stick around?


End file.
